


Asking the Hard Questions

by She5los



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Autistic Ferdinand von Aegir, Changeling myth, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24707059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/She5los/pseuds/She5los
Summary: Changelings don't exist, but Ferdinand is a changeling.  Fairies don't exist, but Hubert may be trying to steal his name.Ferdinand has felt distant from his peers ever since he was little.  One day, he reads about difficult children and what it means when a child is difficult in just the same way he's difficult.  He carries the heavy knowledge of what he is through the Academy and the War before finally confessing to Hubert.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 21
Kudos: 120





	Asking the Hard Questions

**Author's Note:**

> This story is about my experience being autistic and having to acknowledge the changeling myth (sometimes, children are switched as babies with fairy children, who act strange and should be killed) as my ancestors' way of understanding the way I am. The title is from "Changeling" by Tumblr user PhemieC. If you want to know more about changelings and how they're understood by the neurodivergent community right now, try "Here's a Story About Changelings," a trio of stories by Roachpatrol.
> 
> Ferdinand doesn't actually talk slowly when he's older, but he's always afraid that he does because it took him so long to make his words come at a normal pace and also because it takes more work for him to talk that quickly. He does practice his speeches in front of a mirror, though, to make sure his expressions look right.

Ferdinand was maybe eight or nine when he found the book. His nurse said he was too old for fairy stories, but the thick tome had been left on his bookshelf as a holdover from not too long ago, or perhaps, given its style, in preparation for when he was ready for it. Either way, on her day off Ferdinand grabbed the tome off his shelf to take with him as an amusement when Father took him to the palace.

(It was never any fun there, anyway. Edelgard was either on holiday or missing, depending on who you asked, and Hubert clearly believed the latter. Caspar was out of town, making Linhardt a very boring playfellow, and Bernadetta was never much fun to begin with.)

When Father's meeting started, Ferdinand went to a nice gazebo in the gardens and opened the book,  _ A Brief History of the Fair Folk, _ and started to read.

It was unlike any fairy story Ferdinand had ever read. Instead of tales, the book was filled with information, which it treated very seriously. Where Ferdinand had been sure, before, that fairies were make-believe, the dry, informative style of the book said otherwise. It said: there are truths we know about fairies, we twelfth-century scientists, and this is a topic that any reasonable person should be educated in.

It was also where Ferdinand learned there were children like him.

A  _ changeling _ , he learned, was a fairy child raised by humans, and there were many accounts of them: the dry, point-by-point list of their traits as well as a wealth of diary entries about them.

Ferdinand hadn't known there were other children like him. Children who preferred to play by themselves instead of with others. Children who preferred animals to people. Children who collected things, pretty but useless things, and then lined them up just so to show them off. Children who words came slowly to, as if they had to pass through another, unknown language before they came out of his mouth in Fódlander, making his speech stilted and difficult. There were other children, Ferdinand learned, for whom human interaction was a mystery, a skill to be learned slowly and laboriously because it never came natural.

He also learned what was to be done to those children.

It wasn't the changelings' fault that they were out of place. It wasn't. The drowning, the leaving them chained in the forest, the quick death with a silver knife were not done out of cruelty or pity, but self-defense. If you let a changeling grow to adulthood, the book told him, they would become the Fairies' infiltrators. They would look and talk and act like humans. They would even think they were humans! But the Fairies would take them back one day, steal their names and thereby control them, to be used against the people they'd grown up with in all sorts of nefarious ways outlined in the journal entries that had been copied into the book.

Ferdinand was a good boy, or at least he tried to be. He couldn't imagine doing the evil deeds that changelings sometimes did, and he was sure there were other changelings who were just as opposed to acts of violence and harm, who had had no ability to object to their own misdeeds because their names had been stolen. He decided to take active measures to ensure that was never him.

.-._.-._.-._

_ Your Grace, _

_ You asked for a written account of Ferdie's new customs, and while I agree they're very bothersome, still I'd like to remind you that children go through all sorts of strange phases in their interests, patterns of speech, even their moods. They have so much power of imagination when it comes to inventing stories and scenarios that it's easy to forget they have very little imagination, comparatively, when it comes to imagining themselves in the world, in their real, everyday lives. Ferdinand is trying on some new customs the way you or I would try on new clothes, and as these habits do not fit him and annoy everybody around him, I think it very likely he will cast them off once he gathers the information he needs from doing all this. _

_ The most obvious one, of course, is that he has stopped answering normally when asked for his name. He introduces himself with the words, "I am Ferdinand von Aegir," whether the situation calls for that phrasing or not. (Usually, of course, it does not.) This starts his interactions with others off on a strange foot, but does not seem to be harmful otherwise. _

_ He has gotten more stubborn in his speech, and now pulling answers out of him during lessons is a task and a half. He does this sometimes when he's upset, and I have every confidence that he'll eventually tell me what it is he's upset about. In the meantime, I apologize that this habit has carried over into your dinners with Her Grace. Children are called on to speak so little at the dinner table, but I agree it is important that they answer promptly when addressed by an adult; stubborn silence is just as bad as speaking out of turn. I will work on this problem as I have in the past. _

_ Another new quality is an unwillingness to leave the house. Ferdinand has always been a very active boy, but recently, it's become very difficult just to take him to the park, or he'll suggest another activity altogether. He almost took a fall recently, but he still clearly enjoys riding and spends a large portion of his free time in Your Grace' stables, so it cannot be a fear of horses. I wish it was, because I know how to help with that. In the past month, we have ridden  _ _ through _ _ the park several times, but have only rarely stopped for him to run about. He seems to have as much energy as before, and runs around the garden most days. Sometimes, I even have him run circuits around the house to burn off extra energy, which I did before and will probably have to do for a few more years yet. I will continue trying to figure out what his aversion to the park is; he likes to go off on his own and I often indulge him, so perhaps he fell from a tree and forgot to tell me. _

_ Your Grace knows that Ferdinand has a strange pattern of study: he will become obsessed with something, learn everything he can, and then seem to forget that topic ever existed. He retains the knowledge, of course, but stops pursuing a topic once he has had his fill of information. Right now, the topic is older fairy stories, the long-lasting myths rather than specific tales. He wants to know all the types of them and hear about all the ways they've pulled tricks on people. I've told him this pursuit is childish, but he is always so driven in these topics, it seems best to let him explore the subject and wear it out. I apologize if he starts spouting this nonsense out of turn at the dinner table, as he so often does with his interests. _

_ I think that is most of it. He seems a bit timid compared to his usual self, which only corroborates my suspicion that he's worrying about something. Once I find out what's been bothering him, he will hopefully get back to normal. _

_ Your servant, _

_ Miss Patricia Maye _

.-._.-._.-._

At seventeen, after narrowly escaping an arranged marriage, Ferdinand was sent to the Officers' Academy at Garreg Mach. Ironically, Bernadetta was, too; apparently, both their parents had decided they could stand to take on some more skills before marriage.

Ferdinand loved new places and he hated new places. He liked to explore, learn all the ins and outs of the castle and the town and the craggy mountain land, but any change from the places and people he knew put his admittedly strange customs on full display.

He was no simpleton; he knew that fairies were make-believe. It would be a problem if, at seventeen, he couldn't tell the real from the obviously false. But even so, even certain as he was, there was a lingering doubt. Whenever he read accounts of changelings, the ones who weren't completely monstrous were… not like him, exactly. But they were just the same as he was as a child. Changelings weren't real, but somehow, Ferdinand was one anyway, and he was the worst kind: not an obvious monster, but a hidden one, who had studied his peers and practiced his faces in the mirror and drilled words into his mouth and stillness into his hands and feet. He appeared human, and he wanted to tell himself that meant he  _ was _ human, but he still held onto the irrational fear that someone would steal his name and his will from him and use him to do terrible things.

He had experience in holding onto his name. Surrounded by so many new people, Ferdie never gave his name directly, but always said it was his own name. That way, whether someone asked what he was called or whether they asked if they could 'have his name' didn't matter; his answer was the same.

It was at that time that he became suspicious of Hubert.

Fairies weren't real, but Hubert may have been one. It certainly didn't help that he was wholeheartedly devoted to Edelgard, and Ferdinand was determined to surpass her. He hated Ferdinand, plain and simple, so it was difficult to get his measure. At one point, Ferdinand even wrote out a list of his suspicions:

-Fights with magic -- aversion to metal? Do I have an aversion to metal??

-Constantly watching me (constantly watches everyone, but I am included) and makes strange, dissatisfied faces

-Acts like his schooling is a waste of time, like he is actually pursuing some other goal

-Edelgard was gone all that time, and now is more powerful than any human -- is it possible she is a fairy queen??? It seems impossible that there would be two of them.

The real clincher was an incident in late winter on the training ground.

Ferdinand was not shy to admit the way he said his name sounded silly. He knew it was, but he couldn't shake the fear of being wrong, of the whole secret, magical parallel world being real, so he kept doing it. It was distinctive, but harmless. And it made for an easy phrase to yell when he just needed to yell  _ anything _ . Words had never come easy to him.

He was exhausted after a long day of practice with his warhorse, Snowdrop, and was taking a couple slow laps around the practice arena to wind down. "There's a good girl, Snowy," he muttered, patting her shoulder. "Such a calm little thing." Naturally, she was the opposite of little, and was actually the largest horse he'd ever owned, but she was always sweet to him.

Other students had come to watch practice. Since Lady Edelgard had been honing her form, Hubert was there. "Hey, Aegir," he called as Ferdie trotted by. "Mind giving me your name? I don't think I got it the first forty times."

"Come off it, Hubert," Lady Edelgard admonished, following behind him. "It doesn't hurt anything."

Ferdie did another lap, slowing to a walk, and didn't hear anything else until he had dismounted and was leading his horse to the stable.

"Really, Hubert, the way you badger him," Lady Edelgard scolded. Sound carried far in corridors made of wood and stone. "We're supposed to be  _ rallying _ people, but you always act like Ferdinand is beneath you!"

"Only because he always acts like  _ you _ are beneath  _ him!" _ Hubert retorted. "What use is he to us if he refuses to recognize that you are his future emperor?" It was a very suspicious conversation. Ferdinand grabbed a curry comb, trying to act like he didn't hear anything.

"Whether he considers me to be a leader worth following is my problem," Lady Edelgard said. "Whether he can see that I surround myself with trustworthy advisors is your problem, and I do want him to be able to see that!" They turned a corner and their voices became muffled soon after.

Ferdinand knew that the conversation wasn't about his role in the Black Eagles, because then why would they have to bring him to their side? For all he knew, it wasn't even about him, but he did feel like he was probably the primary target of Hubert's frustration.

What did Hubert mean, his future emperor? Of course Lady Edelgard was his future empress; she was a princess! Even the Insurrection had allowed the Emperor to hold onto his title, and Lady Edelgard had been his heir for years.

Unless that was not the empire they were referring to.

There was always Ferdinand's  _ other _ train of thought, wherein Lady Edelgard was not the Princess of Fódlan at all, but a Queen of the Fairies. Lady Edelgard had admonished Hubert for bothering Ferdinand so often; did she want him to back down for a time solely to make Ferdinand let his guard down so one of them would have a better opportunity to take his name? She did say it right after Hubert had asked, in that casual, tricky way fairies always did in stories, for Ferdinand to give over his name.

The situation was confusing, and no matter how long Ferdinand mulled it over, he couldn't puzzle it out. Changelings weren't real. Fairies and fairy queens weren't real. So why did everything make more sense if they were?

.-._.-._.-._

Lady Edelgard declared war and the conversation Ferdinand had overheard months ago made sense. Father was placed under house arrest and Ferdie, ever loyal to his emperor, surrendered his land, his troops, and himself to Edelgard. Everything always had a logical explanation. It was good.

During the War, Ferdie didn't think much about being a changeling. It didn't seem to matter much when what was needed was for him to fight and survive like a human. He retained his old habits, but got better at yelling relevant phrases on the fly. (He practiced yelling commands where he hoped his battalion wouldn't hear him.) By showing deference to his Emperor and becoming a decorated Adrestian general, he even managed to win Hubert's respect, enough to convince him to come to tea, enough to start sharing tea and coffee whenever they were near.

He brought Hubert into his bed, eventually. They wrote letters, exchanged glances, and when they were stationed or traveling together, they shared time and kisses and… other things. He didn't say anything about the silly delusions of his childhood.

Then the War ended.

The War ended. It had a dozen or more names, but to everyone Ferdinand knew, it was  _ the _ war. The Fódlan Continental War, the Five Years War, the Adrestian-Sothian War, none of those quite captured how all-encompassing it had been to fight it, the grueling years of mud and boredom punctuated by fire and fear and horror. It was the War, and now it was over, and the people celebrated, the civilians made flower garlands and pulled out decorations from all the most cheerful festivals, and Ferdinand went home and didn't leave his house for a month.

He said he was helping to manage and restore Aegir Duchy. He was lying. His friends knew he had been on or near the front lines for years between stints in Enbarr, reforming their entire legal system. They let him lie. They let him rest. He wondered if he had ever fit into society, or if he had only been allowed in on the contingency that he provided them a useful service.

Hubert came to get him after twenty-eight days exactly.

Hubert was kind to him. Hubert was feeling much the same as Ferdie was, but was still holding himself together for the sake of an empire that needed him. Ferdinand didn't see that much difference between reigning your emotions in for five years, or for five years and a month. He invited Hubert to come in to dinner.

"You're missed in Enbarr," Hubert said with very little ceremony as they ate a light Summer meal of chicken, potato dumplings, and summer squash. "El and I miss our Prime Minister, and I know Caspar was hoping to see you again before he and Linhardt strike out for who-knows-where."

"I'll go back with you," Ferdinand promised. "I have no real need for a house full of ghosts, anyway."

"And I miss you," Hubert added, his voice suddenly quiet.

Ferdinand smiled, as much as he ever smiled these days, and said, "I am glad to hear it. I have missed you, too."

They went for a walk in the garden as the sun set, arm in arm. There was one detail Ferdinand knew he couldn't leave unresolved. The years had somehow strengthened his suspicions and his denial in equal measure, and if he didn't talk to someone, maybe he would never believe he could fit into Adrestian society.

When they returned to his room, he asked, "Have you ever heard much fairy lore? Not the new stories, but the old myths." He led Hubert to the balcony. It was high summer; even after a lazy dinner, the sun still hadn't quite started to set.

"Some," Hubert admitted. "What in particular?"

"The ones about people who… are not as they seem. People who seem human, and are not."

"I have read several accounts like that," Hubert told him. He seemed very tentative, like he couldn't parse the direction the conversation was going. That was alright; it was always going to be a strange conversation. “Some accounts are more legitimate than others.”

Ferdinand paused, looked out over the balcony to the golden fields and forests of his land. He thought it would never stop being home to him. "That is very reassuring to hear," Ferdinand said. "Because I… There is something I have never told you, Hubert. It sounds embarrassing to give it the legitimacy of saying it out loud. But I am not certain I belong in Enbarr. I want to, but I do not know if I can." His words came slow and stilted. It was difficult to put the sentiment into words. He could spit volumes of tricky rhetoric into the ears of dignitaries and officials, but his words for his own feelings were still halting and inelegant.

"The War was hard on everyone," Hubert said soberly. He came to stand behind Ferdinand, lean over his shoulder. Ferdie was glad he didn't quiet his steps. "That doesn't make you less human. It isn't a fairy story, Ferdinand; it's okay to feel out of place." He put a hand on Ferdinand's opposite shoulder. "You can relearn everything you feel you've lost."

"That isn't what I mean," Ferdinand argued. "That… I spent the last month on that. I have more recovering to do, but I think I want to do it around people. I meant it when I said I would return with you. What I mean is… There are stories -- old stories -- about people who are not… people. Not humans, at least. And they talk and act like people, but they never really belong. Please understand, Hubert: this is very hard for me to say. I like who I am. I have tried to be the best person I can be. But, in situations where everyone else is so vibrant and real, I feel… distant. I will go back, if you want to have me, but I want to give you the chance to say no. Because I love you, and I want you to know who you have fallen in love with."

It wasn't unexpected when Hubert moved to press him harder against the balcony, to encircle him with his arms. Unfortunately, it also wasn't unexpected that he held a knife to Ferdinand's throat.

"Where is he?" Hubert asked. Ferdinand didn't even try to struggle. The changelings in stories were always killed eventually.

"How should I know?" Ferdinand asked. "In fairyland somewhere, I suppose."

"I don't believe you," Hubert spat. "You have him alive, or there would be no reason to confess all this. I must say, you did an excellent impression of him."

"Of who?" Ferdie asked. Hadn't Hubert heard what he said?

"The real Ferdinand. Your kind usually do a much coarser impersonation." He tightened his grip, the knife still pressed to Ferdinand's throat. "What are your terms for his return?"

"I do not understand what you are trying to ask," Ferdinand said, trying to sound calm even as his own lover threatened to kill him for the monster he was. "There is no other Ferdinand; whoever switched us, they did it long ago. I am the only Ferdinand you have ever known. I just wanted you to know."

_ "Just give me your terms," _ Hubert hissed. "You have already confessed. I would appreciate you removing the glamour, but I've killed plenty of you who looked like my friends. Nice trick, stealing Ferdinand when he was so despondent and helpless that anyone could have impersonated him."

"Hubert, you misunderstood," Ferdinand said, starting to panic. What sort of being was Hubert referring to? "I am a changeling; I was switched at birth. I have none of this inside knowledge you seem to think I have."

"Backing out when the going gets tough?" Hubert asked, pressing the knife just slightly harder against Ferdinand's neck. "How like your kind. Where are you holding Ferdinand?"

"Please believe me," Ferdinand begged. "Kill me or spare me, but believe me: I am not part of some larger conspiracy! I should have told you sooner, I know that, but I never had a say in what happened!" He should have kept more guards in his house. He had never been terribly sensible.

"Like I would spare an abomination like you," Hubert spat. He was right, his words were what Ferdinand deserved, but he was saying them for the wrong reason. "I can't help but be mad at myself for believing all the letters you've written me this past month. How brazen could you get, to seal them with his Crest when we both know that's the one thing you can never copy, along with his conscience?"

That was even stranger than the rest. "Why would I not have a crest?" Ferdinand asked, distracted from his fear by genuine confusion. "Hubert, I do not know what you think I am, but I have certainly not lost my crest."

"Liar," Hubert hissed.

So Ferdinand manifested his crest in front of himself.

Hubert paused. His hand was so tense, the knife drew blood.

Then it was pulled away from his throat entirely, and Ferdinand leaned over the balcony, gasping in relief.

**_"What was that?"_** Hubert asked, and Ferdinand thought distantly that he'd never heard Hubert roar like that before. "Why would you let me-- I would have _killed_ you, Ferdinand, do you not understand that?" He sheathed his knife in his boot. "Was that your way of interrogating me about the Slitherers? Why would you claim to be one of them? Were you trying to make me hurt you?" His hands were all over Ferdinand's arms. He was facing Ferdinand now, guiding his face to face Hubert's, but Ferdie wouldn't raise his eyes. "Ferdie? Ferdie, why would you do that? Have I done something, that you wanted to make me hurt you?" He stiffened. "You… you said I could kill you. Ferdinand?"

"I didn't lie," Ferdinand said bitterly. "I do not know what a 'slitherer' is. I am a changeling, Hubert. Switched at birth, always out of place. I am the same Ferdinand who you knew as a child, and at the Academy. I am the same Ferdinand who fought with you during the war. But, if you have confirmed that changelings are real, then I am one. You should be afraid."

“That’s not the-- There are people who--” Hubert tried, then sighed and grabbed Ferdinand by the arm. “Come in to bed and I’ll see to your neck.”

Ferdinand stood his ground. "You said they were real," he reminded Hubert. "So now, I am telling you that I am one."

"People who seem like other people, yes," Hubert said. "Not changelings. Not fairies. There is nothing of the kind." He was still trying to tug Ferdinand inside, but though he was taller, Ferdinand was heavier and stronger, and Hubert was trying to coax him, not force him.

"Then why do I act like one?" Ferdinand asked. "Especially as a child, but even now. With… With my troubles finding the right words, with the way shaking my hand or bouncing my leg calms me down -- you, yourself, have complained of how I move my leg when we are trying to fall asleep! --with the way that, no matter how hard I try, I am always separate. There are people, and then there is Ferdinand von Aegir, the outsider, loved but certainly not the same as everyone else. What else could I be, Hubert?"

Hubert looked profoundly sad. Ferdinand couldn't look at his eyes, but he did his best to look at his lover's face. "You are my Ferdinand," he said quietly, soulfully. "You are yourself. Changelings are a fiction, Ferdinand. I would never hurt you just for feeling… estranged sometimes." Hubert leaned forward and kissed him. Ferdinand had missed his kisses so much. He didn't want to correct Hubert, tell him that it wasn't sometimes; it was all the time. He knew he didn't belong. His fears would never have taken root like that if he hadn't felt out of place for his entire life.

"Then what is the name for it?" he challenged. "What am I? I will not allow you to dance around this and placate me when I have felt this way since I was a child." He was impatient, frustrated, maybe even angry. He didn't want to be soothed; he wanted to be taken seriously. He wanted to lay his troubles bare and still be accepted.

Hubert rose to his full height, puffing out his chest, responding to Ferdinand's challenge. "If there is no name for it, you are still just as human," he argued. "You still deserve to live, to fight to be alive. You can't just go around, challenging your loved ones to kill you! Flames and stones, Ferdinand!" He pulled Ferdie toward him, and Ferdinand leaned against his shoulder willingly. "Some people are a bit strange. That is no cause for alarm. It is certainly no reason to doubt your own humanity. Come home with me, Ferdinand. See your friends. Perhaps you'll find you are closer than you remembered."

Ferdinand pulled away. He suddenly couldn't bear to be touched by Hubert. "Stop making this smaller than it is!" he snapped. "Seteth and Flayn tricked us; who among our friends can actually tell a  _ person _ from a  _ human? _ Is it human to practice your faces in the mirror for hours just to ensure your expressions look right? Is it  _ human _ to retire after a party, where you know you had fun, and feel so drained you sit in a dark closet with a blanket and sing to calm yourself? I don't know what humans do, Hubert! I am not certain I have ever been one!" His heart was still pounding from Hubert threatening to kill him earlier. "I can barely look people in the eye, Hubert. There is something different about me, and 'a little estranged' simply does not describe the constancy of my feelings of not belonging!"

"You belong with me!" Hubert shouted. "You belong with us-- all the Black Eagles! You belong in Enbarr. I'll never mention the leg thing again; just… come with me, Ferdinand." Ferdinand shook Hubert's hand off his face. He was too keyed up; he didn't want to be touched.

"I don't even feel like a human." Ferdinand hadn't decided to whisper, but the words came out weak and breathy. "I feel so strongly, Hubert. There were so many times in the War when I thought my emotions would tear me apart. Petra and Edelgard and Caspar would take in bad news without flinching, and for the longest time, I thought they were putting on a good show like I was. I thought they were being strong for their subordinates. My whole life, I have always thought everyone just put on a brave face when they were in public. I thought it was shameful that Linhardt just acted on what he felt, when all the rest of us were holding it together. I thought everybody just… deferred their feelings, to be expressed in private, but I wrote Dorothea about it and she said that was not true at all. I--"

"I love that you feel so deeply," Hubert told him. "You were never  _ that _ good at hiding it." He leaned against the railing, watching the sun begin to set. "It gives you strong morals. And your body is sensitive, too. Of course I've noticed. I never knew you had those thoughts, or we could have discussed them. None of these things makes you anything other than human, Ferdinand. And, besides, you have your father's Crest. Is that a glamour, in this line of thinking?"

"How can you actually refute anything if you refuse to take me seriously?" Ferdinand challenged. He leaned on the rail next to Hubert in a huff. "Did you never take rhetoric at school? It is never effective to deny that an argument exists. To be truly convincing, you need to offer a better alternative. Do you think I am unaware that this idea is childish and stupid? I am not that simple, Hubert! I do not want to argue; I want to be convinced!"

"Well, apologies for not using my best rhetoric skills," Hubert said, turning to Ferdie with a ridiculous bow full of flourishes. As he straightened he added, "I simply did not think it worthwhile, when I have been trying to decide whether your argument even deserves to be acknowledged. If you know how foolish it is, then abandon it; it will do no harm to stop pursuing it. But let me indulge you." He leaned against the balcony railing again, next to Ferdinand. "Let me say you are a person, but not a human. What then? Was Seteth not a dearly loved bishop and a friendly, fatherly figure to half the school? Do you think anyone would have been less worried about Flayn's kidnapping if they knew her true identity? We killed Rhea for her power-madness, not for being a dragon."

The sky was turning distinctly orange. It shone off the river to the west and a couple reflecting pools in the garden, nearly blinding. Ferdinand carefully looked at the sky instead.

"That is why I said I would go if you would have me," Ferdinand reminded his lover. "I just want to ensure that you want me there."

"I want you there, and I don't feel I should have to debate your humanity in order to bring you home," Hubert pushed. "Whatever will make you feel more welcome or natural, I will do it, and gladly. But I want you home. We all want you home."

Ferdinand closed his eyes, trying to gather himself. He felt uncomfortable, but didn't squirm or shift. "It was a stupid thing to say," he conceded, opening his eyes again. "Childish. I know better." His doubts were as big as ever, but he wouldn't get any answers right now. Maybe it would work the next time he brought it up. Maybe his name would get stolen and he would do something utterly horrifying and there would be no next time.

"Wait. Ferdinand…" Hubert turned toward him, still leaning on the rail. "You brought it up because you were worried. I won't give any legitimacy to an argument that tells me to hurt you for being yourself. I won't. Feeling out of place is not a crime. It isn't treason. It isn't an action you took or a decision you made. Even my father would not have arrested you for it."

"Do we still spit when he's mentioned?" Ferdinand asked, wondering if five years was long enough to stop the custom. Hubert answered by spitting down into the garden below, so Ferdinand followed suit. "Nevertheless, that is the particularly heinous thing about changelings," Ferdinand pointed out. "They start off as strange, rude children, but they are particularly susceptible to--"

"Did you never think that there are people who don't want to deal with their strange, rude children?" Hubert interrupted. He was clearly as near the end of his patience as Ferdinand was. "Did you never think that the myth was passed down to give cruel people an excuse to be cruel? Children are helpful and useful, but if you have one who talks back, or won't talk, or won't help around the house, you're conveniently allowed to kill them and tell your neighbors they were never a human child in the first place. You slaughter your child like an animal and say they were never really a child, anyway. Did that never seem the likeliest possibility? Not that those children deserved it, but that people schemed to cover their own tracks?"

The answer was yes. The answer was no. The answer was that it was too dangerous a possibility to consider because it made sense and tied up all its own loose ends. There was no mystery in it, and there was so much death. It would mean that Ferdinand had lived because of his noble status and other people had died for lack of it.

"Make any other argument," Ferdie said. "That one is too sad." Wispy summer clouds were turning cheerful pink high up above the sunset.

"And plausible," Hubert added.

"It is the murder of children," Ferdinand pointed out. His eyes were misting just thinking about it. "It is the… the incrimination of children. After the fact."

"They are children whether they are human or not," Hubert said. He sighed and leaned his shoulder against Ferdinand's. Ferdie let him. "It was that way in all of my arguments."

Despite his denial, he knew which argument was true. He knew they'd hit on it. He watched the sunset and wanted to pace. Wanted something to do with his hands. Anything.

"I'm glad you're here," Hubert told him after several seconds of silence. "I'm glad you're here after the War, and also after… what could have happened in your childhood."

Ferdinand ducked down, leaning even more, practically forcing Hubert to put an arm around him.

They watched the sunset together by unspoken agreement. There was no argument to make against Hubert's assertion, and they both knew it. The weight of surviving pressed down on Ferdinand, as it had for the last month. As it had since that first battle five years ago. But this time, the ones who died hadn't even been able to defend themselves, and were killed by the people who were supposed to protect them. Their deaths had been hand-waved because they were "intruders" in their own cradles. It was a very heavy weight.

"Come to bed," Hubert said quietly as the last of the red light died over the horizon. Even the little wispy clouds had gone nearly invisible, dour gray in the dark blue sky. Ferdinand went, and Hubert didn't remove his arm from around his shoulders.

When he was lying down, boots sitting next to his bed, fiddling with the button at his collar, the next wave of feelings hit him: if he was just a regular human, a bit strange but perfectly natural, then he had estranged  _ himself _ . He had spent years fighting, willing to die, for people who he fully expected would throw him out if they knew he wasn't like them. They had never done anything to indicate they would; he had always been the one to see himself as expendable.

Hubert sat next to him and pressed a warm, damp washcloth against the cut on his neck. Spindly fingers nudged his collar away from the spot. Ferdinand looked up at his lover and asked, "How do I feel like one of you?"

That was another question that upset Hubert. He didn't say anything, but he looked distinctly uncomfortable. He leaned down to kiss Ferdinand (Goddess, he'd missed those kisses) and when he sat up again, he started wiping at the congealed blood on Ferdinand's throat.

Ferdinand was left alone with his thoughts and feelings in the space of Hubert's silence. He had spent so long doubting his own humanity, he couldn't remember the last time he had truly counted himself equivalent to his peers. It was a heavy thing, to realize he had been human the whole time. To stop fighting that knowledge. So many things tonight were heavy.

"I have different reasons," Hubert said at last. "I never thought I wasn't human. But I did feel… separate." He finally stopped dabbing at Ferdinand's neck and stood up. "I think it helps to be wanted," he said as he walked back to the bathroom. He stood in the doorway, rather than leave when Ferdinand still felt so vulnerable. "When you're there, you'll see. You're wanted there as Prime Minister, but also as yourself. You can… practice."

"Practice," Ferdinand echoed, a clear question.

Hubert nodded. "Feeling human," he clarified, and turned and went into the bathroom. Ferdinand heard him rinse the washcloth under the tap. "I've been doing the same thing."

Ferdinand slowly removed his clothes. He didn't bother to put them away, just piled them next to his bed. Sometime while he was doing that, Hubert sat on the other side of the bed, removing his own clothes with quick precision and draping them over the chair at the writing desk. Ferdinand felt exhausted in every way, and the most he could do was smile a little at Hubert in the dark before they fell asleep.

He would return to Enbarr, as promised, he thought to himself as he lay still with Hubert's arm draped loosely over him. He had to. It was time to venture forth into the world with full confidence that he was a human, rather than a person. It was time to appreciate the qualities he had  _ because _ he was a changeling, and show his friends the real, whole Ferdinand von Aegir.


End file.
